


The Entity

by CanyonsIntrovert07



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fix-It, If You Squint - Freeform, Kind of like a force bond, Lotor (Voltron) Deserves Better, Lotor is just misunderstood, Lotor is the Entity, Lotura - Freeform, Mental Link, and needs a lot of love, force bond inspired?, goes from there, lotor redemption arch we all deserve, mostly - Freeform, some Klance later on, starts from Clear Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-10-25 22:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanyonsIntrovert07/pseuds/CanyonsIntrovert07
Summary: There had been a barrage that had begun with the sight of the dark fuchsia petals and had ended with the manifestation of his voice. That dark voice that had screamed into the Quintessence Field until it had splintered and fractured. The voice he had used to plead for forgiveness only to be spurned and left for dead. The voice that had once made the royal smile at his vast knowledge of countless systems and dreams of peace. How fitting that she, the one who had led him to become this dark creature, would be the one to remind him of his true self. How fitting that he would use it to undo her.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a retelling of the eighth season of Voltron. My own little Fix-It Fic to add to all the other Fix-It Fics our poor fandom has put out there to try and heal the hurt from the last season. It all starts on Clear Day and where it stops, nobody knows! Inspired by this post: http://kimchiislife.tumblr.com/post/181207926072/ever-since-watching-the-disaster-eighth-season-of

In the beginning there was light. From that light, came darkness.

* * *

The Altean royal tugged on the entity, soft quintessence glowing in her palm, urging the dark mass from its current host. The entity was caught between the hold of the witch and the royal for a breadth of a moment before it was free. It had been deca-pheobs since the creature had been free. It brought back memories of open white fields of quintessence.

It made it hungry.

The creature awakened with a hiss as shock forced the Princess’ hold on its energy to slacken. It tore through the room, taking stock of its surroundings. It was a small room, without much to offer. The Earthing’s present possessed little to no quintessence, and the Altean from which it had emerged was unconscious. The entity shrieked in frustration as it continued to sweep the room, mindful of the shouts of panic and activity that its manifestation had set into motion.

The mass of chaotic energy could not enter an unconscious host, the mental bond forged between the two beings could not be made if the mind was inactive. The humans had no quintessence to feed the constant hunger that pulsed through it. The Princess, however was thrumming with soothing blue quintessence. The soft energy pulled at something within the creature, that tickling only served to fuel its appetite.  

It flew towards the Altean, swerving away from the human blocking its path with another shriek. Rounding the room, it went for the woman again only for the door to slide into place and halt its movements. There were no other hosts available. Frenzied panic took hold within the entity as it searched the area for any points of weakness. It had to get out. It needed quintessence. It needed the Princess.

There was a new pull on its form, unlike any it had felt. The force held no quintessence, but was able to force its form to the center of the room all the same. The entity struggled against it, letting out shrieks and hisses of frustration. It needed out, it needed a host, _it_ _needed quintessence._

But there was none available.

The entity stilled and prepared to lay in wait. It ceased all activity, preserving the quintessence held within its dark mass of energy. It had waited deca-pheobs. It could wait until the Earthlings made a mistake. It would reach the Altean with her soft blue quintessence.

* * *

The entity quietly drifted through the glass casing the humans had procured for it. It wasn’t much, it held it’s physical form but the entity could still stretch out its quintessence. The creature explored the ship with a small thread of quintessence, unnoticeable to anyone but a trained and skilled alchemist. It knew of only one on the vessel and had no doubt that she would be coming to visit its cylindrical prison soon enough.

The awe, confusion, and fascination that had lighted on her features as she had pulled the mass from the Altean had been enough to assure it of that. But the entity wanted to know of this new ship, learn what creatures inhabited it. There were a handful of Altean’s in holding, but they already held a piece of its consciousness; the entity could feel its own quintessence echoed back as it reached out to them.

So, the entity did what it did best. It waited.

It wasn’t long before it gazed back as she fixed hooded gemstone eyes on the swirling mass of dark energy that made its corporeal form.

Then, it reached out to her, ever so gently brushing her consciousness with its own. Her eyes widened at the touch, and the entity could feel her draw closer. Its stilled, hovering before the royal, quivering with the barest hint of smug anticipation. The Altean was in its clutches, even if she was unaware of it. Even as she turned away.

The entity waited in its case as the vessel cleared of most of its inhabitants. Watched as the Altean snuggled into an Earthling’s embrace. Waited as she drifted into a fitful sleep. Then, it released a mass of quintessence, molding it to reflect the form of the boy who had been allowed into her chambers. It pushed forward through the projected image, the movements hollow and unnatural through its manipulations.

But it would be enough.

The creature was assured of this as it passed a human in the hall who offered it a smile and a nod.

It would be enough.

The entity paused outside of the Altean’s chambers, frustration tugging at the features of the boy. There was a pad requesting a code. The entity knew of no such code. It hissed in agitation before resigning itself to expending some of its reserves of quintessence. It laid a thin hand on the key pad and pushed its energy out. Quintessence raced along the circuits until the systems were satisfied and the door slid open with a quiet whoosh.

Smug satisfaction stretched the boy’s face and the entity strolled into her chambers. All that was left was to convince the Altean to release its physical form from the cylindrical case and then he would have access to the deliciously untainted quintessence that thrummed beneath her skin.

Something else drew it attention, though. There was a solitary flower on her nightstand that pulled on a memory. The entity drew forward, the constant need for quintessence quieted by the image of this solitary bloom. There was something about it that was so very familiar. An urge to stroke one of the thick, undulating petals pulled at the creature, urging the form of the boy to stretch out a hand.

“Lance?” The Altean had stirred, likely responding to the foreign quintessence in her room. “What are you doing here?”

Her voice was slow with sleep as she pushed up to appraise the boy. When there was no answer from him, she continued, “I thought you were going to the carnival.”

Instead of replying to her inquiries, the entity supplied the words, “That’s a beautiful flower.” The phrase seemed to echo conversation naturally enough to not raise alarm from the Princess, so it continued to the question that had been pulling at its very being, “Where did you get it?”

The woman turned her gaze on the flower as well, her tone colored with a soft smile as she replied, “Colleen gave it to me. It’s a _real_ juniberry flower.” Her expression darkened as she murmured, “I assumed that had gone extinct.”

Something within the entity’s consciousness had begun to warp at the sight of the flower, and now with the name _juniberry_ ringing high through its being, the creature fond its energy molding to fit another form. Memories of yellowed parchment and faded paints surfaced with the name, the illustrations surrounded with a language it was unfamiliar with yet intimately knowledgeable of.

When the entity responded to the royal, it was with a voice of dark velvet, “You should know better than anyone, nothing ever truly goes extinct.” 

There had been a barrage that had begun with the sight of the dark fuchsia petals and had ended with the manifestation of his voice. _His_ voice. That dark voice that had screamed into the quintessence field until it had splintered and fractured. The voice he had used to plead for forgiveness only to be spurned and left for dead. The voice that had once made the royal—Allura, his memories supplied her name—smile with his vast knowledge of countless systems and dreams of peace. How fitting that she, the one who had lead him to become this dark creature, would be the one to remind him of his true self. How fitting that he would use it to undo her.

As the words unfurled through the room, the woman’s eyes widened with disbelief and something that could have been mistaken as hope. She fully pulled herself from her pillow, sitting up to search the room. Was the Princess searching for the owner of the melodic purr or perhaps for the human boy who’s form he had been unable to retain?

He brushed against her consciousness and pulled on her memories of how she had last seen him and willed his projected quintessence into a new form, one with lithe lines and piercing blue eyes to match her own. A form he remembered well, that he could manipulate without the stilted falseness of his previous form.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Lotor murmured as he gazed down at her, a pleased thrill going through him as he watched her features contort with horror and disbelief.

“How?” Her words were thin and breathless with fear despite how her frame seemed to be drawn towards his. Thin white brows drew low over her eyes as she gained control over her emotions and her voice grew hard as she continued,  “how did you get in here?”

He reveled in her tremulous emotions, each one reflected in the swirl of life energy around her. Instead of answering her, the entity turned to appraise the flower once more, voicing some of his most recently acquired memories. “You know, the ancients believed that all of life began with a _single_ juniberry flower.” 

The princess’ bayard zinged to life, ringing as the whip slashed through his projection and into the metallic walls of her chambers. He couldn’t keep his glee from reflecting on his visage. He gazed at the floor, hoping to conceal some of his smile from Allura. She was on her feet now, the traitorous bayard held limply in her hand as her face once more fell into a mask of consternation.

And how could she not be frightened by him? Most people were only graced with their victim’s afterimages in their nightmares. Few had the pleasure of coming face to face with someone they had murdered. He couldn’t resist stepping forward, wallowing in the growing look of helpless dismay in her eyes.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Lotor murmured, his tone almost teasing as he fixed his gaze on her. 

His words seemed to shake her from her trance. Her gaze was fierce as the princess snarled through her fear, “What are you doing here? I demand to know!”

Lotor watched the whip extension retreat back to her bayard—the projection bending and twisting on itself like a desert serpent—as he considered her demand. Perhaps now was the time for truth.

Why was he really here?

To get quintessence.

But further than that?

Lotor tried to recall his motives for calling to the witch from the void all those deca-pheobs ago. The entity looked back on the time he had spent before he had forsaken his memories and identity. When he had whispered to the witch and Emperor of death to their only child. The times he had spent wishing for an end to it all.

When he responded, his words rang with truth. “You and I desire the same thing. We both seek to destroy Haggar.”

“Haggar?” The Princess repeated, her guard retreating momentarily. “Haggar is no longer. She’s Honerva now.”

Loathing coiled through him at the connection between the witch who had tormented him as a child and the woman he had once idolized for her scientific explorations. However,  after watching and causing the transformation from one to the other, he could no longer vehemently insist that the witch had not once been his mother.

Hatred turned his words dark but his tone was still melodic as he played with the strains of their conversation, “True. Though I could rename this juniberry a highlands poppy, you and I would still know what it _truly_ is. The witch may change her name, but she will always be a witch.”

Allura turned her gaze from where it had been resting on the bloom to glare at him once more, “Be that as it may, she’s still too powerful. There’s nothing I can do to counter her abilities.”

Lotor didn’t try to hide the smile on his face this time. He almost had her convinced. Her words were as good as conceding to his will. The Princess was desperate, she would do anything to protect worlds from the wrath of Honerva, even accept him.

“You are mistaken. Everything you need is here.”

Her brows lowered with determination and he knew he had won before she even asked.

“How?”

He led her to where the mass of his energy and consciousness was being held prisoner. It struck him now, how similar this was to when he had first turned himself over to the Paladins of Voltron, only to be shackled and placed in a holding cell. Each time, he was the key to their success. Perhaps this time, the Princess would not be so naïve as to expect the impossible. In a war, casualties were to be expected.

Lotor noticed with interest that her eyes never strayed from his form as they traversed through the hull of the ship. She trusted that he would take her to the answer. It was almost laughable how easily she had followed him, a man she had claimed to despise. What was even more curious, was how her gaze lingered on his form, tracing the lines of his frame. It wasn’t until she had entered the code into the room and found the case before her, that Allura became transfixed on something other than his visage.

It was strenuous to hold his image steady while she stood before his physical form, like a limitless field of quintessence to sate his thirst. Threads of dark energy leapt from his form as she gazed at him, eyebrows upturned and eye impossibly wide.

“This entity holds the power you seek,” Lotor murmured to her, forcing his voice smooth and precise, holding the impatience at bay. “It is an ancient form of energy that predates time itself. It hails from the Quintessence Field. Entities like _this,_ gave Haggar the ability to conquer worlds and control the universe for 10,000 years.” The entity watched her closely, how her gaze followed him as he moved and swirled across the glass. She was so close, he could feel her energy reach out to brush against the glass in response to his. Lotor fed more manipulation into his words as he continued, eager to tip her decision, “She recognizes the strength it provides her, and she uses it.”

He pushed his form forward and leaned down to whisper in her ear, the entity’s voice hissing through her mind in time with the dusky tones of his voice, “If you can become one with the entity, then the powers you gain can defeat the witch.”

Entranced by his words, the Princess stretched out her hand, reaching for the entity. There was a surge of energy as their quintessence met in the area between them, and Lotor hissed in narrow defeat as he watched Allura being transported to a nightmare of her own making, fueled by his dark energy. With a sigh, the Princess’ eyes rolled back and she dropped to the floor. Lotor watched with disappointment. He had been so close. Unfortunately, his impatience had hindered his progress.

Lotor regarded her limp figure for a moment before reluctantly providing enough quintessence to his form to be able to support the Altean. He carried her back to her room and placed her in her bed, scornfully drawing the quintessence from the juniberry to replenish the quintessence he had expended from the task of returning her to her chambers. Then he released his form and drew the quintessence back into the entity and did what he did best.

He waited.      

There was a surge of quintessence as she awoke once more and he tracked her energy with smug satisfaction as she made her way back to him. He released enough energy to bring the Prince she was familiar with back to life just moments before the door hissed open.

Allura strode forward, ignoring his personage to stand before him. Lotor saw the smirk reflected in his own face, not caring to school his features.

“It’s been here,” Allura continued with awe, as though their conversation hadn’t ended, “the entire time.”

Lotor fed her quiet encouragement in the form of his voice as she gazed at the entity, “Everything you need—the ability you’ve been seeking—within your grasp. Go ahead, Allura, _free it_.”

The Princess stretched out her hand once more but stopped, moments before making contact. Her face twisted in fear and uncertainty as she muttered with defeat, “I can’t. I _won’t_.”

He could feel his grasp on her slipping and desperately called on another form that would possibly sway her.

“It won’t do any harm.”

Allura flinched at the sound of the boy’s voice, her eye’s going wide as she tried to convince her mind that he wasn’t there.

“The entity will help you,” he continued, “It will save all of us.”

Lotor added his own voice to the mix, recalling how it was he who had convinced her to move from her chambers, not the Earthling, hoping that it would be the same in this case. “Take it.” 

“No,” she whispered, but he could see her resolve crumbling as her voice shook and she closed her eyes against mirage he had induced to entice her. “No, this is _not real_.”

There was only one other form he could use against her, and she had already supplied it to him not even a varga earlier. Lotor released more quintessence, the loss only fueling his hunger and adding to the pull, the need for more to replace what he had lost.

“Only you can save us all,” Allura’s mother murmured to her.

The Princess spun at the sound of Melenor’s voice, her eyes unguarded as she took in the sight of her mother.

“Release the entity,” the long-dead Queen entreated, “Come home, to Altea.”

Lotor could feel his concentration thinning as the pull for quintessence strengthened and the people within the room began to waver. He struggled to keep the image of her mother stable, but the memories of his own mother were slowly tainting her voice and form. 

It was Honerva who spoke the last words, “Join us.”

Lotor feared that his impatience would be his downfall. Allura spun away from Honerva, disgust coloring her features as she fixed her gaze on the entity. But then, desperation pulled on her features and she slammed a hand against the glass.


	2. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura and Lotor have their first real reunion. It isn't pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There a mentions of past abuse and other rough subjects and themes in this story and especially this chapter. If that bothers you, please steer clear! Because unlike the writers of VLD, I am actually addressing all of the things that could and would have happened in a real world setting as a result of the choices that were made and cultures and species that were created. If you want to join me on this emotional roller coaster, then read on my friends.

“I know you’re there. You can not hide from me. Show yourself.”

The princess had waited to reach out to him until she was again secluded in her chambers. If he had possessed a body of his own, Lotor would have chuckled. Allura had always been more clever than she looked. It had been one of the things that had initially drawn him to her along with her Altean marks and dazzling smile. He had always found something particularly alluring about her smile. Perhaps it was the darkness hidden within her eyes. Was it the pain that had made her glow all the more brightly? He truly hoped he would find out.

Her fingers traced the jagged channel her weapon had carved through the door a quintant prior.

“I know you’re there,” she repeated, her words a mere whisper as she turned, gaze flitting about her quarters with uncertainty. Though she turned to let her room fill her gaze, she kept one grounding hand on the slash, like its presence was all the proof she needed.

Something dark and akin to pride filled his being. His little mouse was trying to turn the tables on him. She was reaching for something—anything she could use to give her the upper hand. Trying to prove to herself that the bleak notion taking root within her mind was nothing more than pessimistic doubts.

She had not just let a monster into her mind with no way to control it, no way to know it. That wasn’t something a royal of Altea would do on the brink of disaster—of universal destruction.

Lotor couldn’t help the squirming swirl of his energy as she repeated her threadbare mantra. Each repetition seemed more desperate, hopeless—helpless. It was beautiful. Delectable. _Delightful._ Already, her hold on reality was beginning to slip. How long would it take for him to push her past the brink? How long would it take for his quintessence to fuse with hers and fully choke out the bright blue energy that ran like an unending river within her? How much pain would he have to show her before he felt like he was deserving of the pain he carried within himself?

The princess flinched at the unfurling of his energy within her, recoiling until her back hit the scarred wall. The entity let out a quiet hiss within her mind as she gritted her teeth and reached out toward his energy.

“I _know_ you’re there!” Allura snarled with renewed ferocity as she found purchase on his quintessence.

Lotor chided himself as he released enough quintessence to call on a projected form of his body, tapping into her memories to put the right amount of color in his skin and weight in his movements. It had been too long since he had been seen as more than an energy source—another thing to bleed dry and manipulate at will. His control was lacking. He resigned himself to do just ask she had asked. He could still play with her sanity, pluck at her emotions, while being visible to her. It would possibly even be easier if she had to see the face of the man she had killed every day.

There was drag on his energy opposing his own manipulations. Allura had finally reached him. She stared down at the pulsing dark energy that clung to her fingertips like a second skin. Her brow furrowed as she tried to coax his energy into another form. He felt her intentions like they were his own, but resisted her pull. Instead, he molded the summoned energy into another cheap imitation until a juniberry flower rested against her open palm.

“Lotor.”

His own words died before he could even begin to bend the energy to allow his projection to speak. His name on her tongue was enough to pull the memory of a heartbeat to his mind. The entity held the phantom sensation close. For just a moment, he wanted to imagine that it was just he and she. That he could feel her move against him once more and hear her laugh and just _breathe._

Before the thought could fully form he was choking it. Lotor would not let himself be lulled by her presence. _She_ had done this to him. _She_ was the reason for this miserable half existence he had to suffer through—had suffered through for longer than he had ever wanted to exist in this plane.

“How intriguing,” his voice pulled her gaze to him until she had rejected the offered flower for her weapon, “not even my own mother was able to recognize me. Even after raising me. Tell me, Allura, how did you recognize me?”

“You… _monster!_ ” The princess snarled at him in a fit of rage, “Stop using him to speak to me! Let his memory rest!”

Lotor’s brow furrowed in an expression of confusion which served only to stoke the princess’ anger. She surged forward, bayard flashing with the same intent reflected in her eyes. Understanding pulled on the entity’s own reserves of wrath and his lips raised in a snarl as he bared his teeth at her.

She hadn’t recognized him. She thought ‘the entity’—as they had decided to name this mass of his energy—was just using her memory of him. No one had been able to feel him within the strains of his quintessence. Not his own parents. Not his chosen mate. Even he had forgotten who he was.

Lotor stepped aside as Allura lashed out at him and grabbed her wrist, twisting until she gasped in pain and dropped the bayard at his feet, “After you took my life in your hands and decided it was unworthy of saving? After you left me in the Quintessence Field to _rot_? Now you ask for _peace?”_

The princess let out a whimper of pain as he twisted further, “Please. Please, stop. Isn’t it enough that he plagues my dreams? Must you bring him into my waking moments too?”

“How can a murdered ask for mercy?” he hissed at her, wishing he could take some shred of joy from the fear and pain in her eyes. All he could feel was his own pain, anger, and hatred burning through his being. Blinding him to the simplest of details.

She sobbed as her knees hit the ground, “You’re right. I no longer have the privilege to wish for such things. But, if letting his memory rest is all I can do for him, then I have to at least try.”

The metallic patter of blood on the floor pulled Lotor away from his turmoil. He stared at the bloom of color against the softly brushed silver floor before trailing it back to its source. His claws had punctured her skin. Allura was bleeding.

The entity dropped her arm like it burned him, withdrawing from her with an otherworldly hiss that made his very form shake with the wrongness of the sound.

He had touched her.

He had made her _bleed._

It was impossible. It was the stuff of fantastical dreams. His thoughts were pulled back to a time when he had projected his image outside of his mother’s mind. When he had screamed at the witch and her emperor. Trying to get something—any sort of response from the only family he had ever been cursed with. Only to be met with silence.

How? _How had he touched her?_  

“Lotor would never hurt me.”

The whisper was threadbare but her eyes were fierce as she clutched her bloody arm to her chest. Her words left him breathless. She truly believed everything she was saying. The princess believed that—even after he had attacked Voltron with nothing but hurt, betrayal and desperation—he would never willingly do her harm. Despite that, she couldn’t even recognize him.

Lotor scoffed through his turmoil, “You remember me through rose-colored memories and guilt. Do not presume to know what I would and would not do. Not as I was then and certainly not as I am now.”

The princess paused, uncertainty pulling at her fine features before she ventured, “How should I know if what you claim is true?”

Lotor sighed. It was a foolish line of thought. The naiveté behind her words grounded him like nothing else could and suddenly he could reach past the chaos to find the hatred and thirst for recompense. He moved forward, not bothering to put weight behind his movements, allowing his image to blur and fuse and glide. She flinched as he circled her, a predator intent on its prey.

“I could tell you that I still remember the way Oriande looked when we went to save your paladins. I could tell you that I still remember the way you tuck your hair behind you ear and bite your lip when you are focusing on a task.” He let a hand ghost over her hair, pulling it back so he could whisper to her, “I can tell you how many times I wanted to kiss you before I actually got up the nerve to do so. I can even remind you of your most tender areas that leave you breathless.” He pulled away, reveling in the goosebumps that had risen up on her skin. “But I’m in your head. I can read your consciousness and memories as easily as I can access my own, so its rather useless for me to convince you that I am who I claim.”

Allura gazed up at him, her shoulders shaking and breath caught in her throat.

Lotor smiled down at her languidly. He gestured to her arm that was leaving spatters of blood on her top, “you should wrap that, Princess.”

“Are you truly him? Are you Lotor?”

“You are the only one who holds the answer to that question.”

“How? How did you come to be that thing?”

His wrath roared to life, so potent that the princess felt it burn through her own chest. She cried as Lotor lashed out at her, his grip vice-like on her wrist as he pulled her forward to let her feel the heat and weight of the truth in his words.

“ _That thing_ is now what I am, princess. Unfiltered quintessence is not kind to the body. Not even if you are born with it infused to your very bones. Do you know what it’s like to have so much energy pulsing within you that your own body betrays you? To be trapped in a pilot’s seat with no where to go, no one to run to as the energy eats away at your skin, your mind, your soul? You left me there to become _that thing._ I am what I am because of you.”

 As he spoke he revealed images, thoughts, sensations, emotions. What it felt like to have his body melt away under the unending onslaught of quintessence. The sight of endless fields of white pulsing energy, never ending, never changing. The voice of Sincline, screaming within his mind as its reserves were filled past capacity with pure energy, as it writhed against the pull of the field. The curl of his mind after phoebs of nothing but pain, anguish, solitude, and that endless field of pulsing energy. The stir of his very being as it too had been overrun—a constant need to expel energy with no means to do so.

The pain of his consciousness being torn from his body as Sincline had tried to save him, only to be ripped apart in the space between.

Allura screamed at the barrage of sensations, hands clutching uselessly at her temples as she curled into a defensive ball on the floor. “Stop,” she sobbed, “Please, I beg of you!”

“You beg of me?” Lotor murmured before grabbing a handful of hair and wrenching her head back to gaze into the anguish. “ _You beg of me?!_ Where were you when I begged for forgiveness, _for mercy?”_

“We never wanted to leave you—I didn’t want to leave you,” the Princess whispered, tears streaming down her face. “We didn’t have a choice—the rips between the field and this world—it could have destroyed everything, we didn’t have the time!”

“You didn’t _have the time!_ ” Lotor’s quintessence lashed out in unbridled rage, the trinkets on her dresser falling to the icy tendrils of black energy, red lines rising up on the princess’ skin as it whipped out. “I waited for _eons_. How incredibly naïve of me to think that the Defenders of the Universe would care for those crushed under their heel. Even if I had once been considered a comrade.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was little more than a breath, but it was filled with enough anguish and regret to match his own. The entity stilled as Allura reached out to place a trembling, bloody hand to rest on his cheek. She was crying for him, for _them_. For all that was and all that could have been. The sincerity in her gaze gave him pause and stilled the storm of his rage.

“I’m sorry, Lotor,” the Princess murmured as she cradled his face in her hands, “it was wrong, what we did to you. The weight of my decisions will never leave me. And you can torture me as much as you’d like. Until you feel as though my debts have been paid in full. But please, don’t leave me again.”

“What?”

“After thinking I was completely alone, you came to me. An Altean,” her thumbs stroked where his marks lay just under the skin, “an Altean chosen by Oriande. And then you were gone. I’ve felt so alone. So completely alone. But now—we don’t have to be alone anymore.”

 Lotor hissed, “Do not speak to me of solitude, Princess. _You haven’t lived it.”_

Her brow furrowed with concern as she watched the dark emotion flood his features once more.

“Please, Lotor, you and I have been dealt more pain and suffering than we deserve. Can we not put that behind us? Can we not—"

“Do not presume to know the suffering I have lived through,” Lotor released his hold on her, pushing away. His words were dull but began to build in fervor as his eyes came to rest on a picture on her bedside table. “You believe you know of suffering? Poor, pampered Princess Allura, guarded by her Paladins and her loving family. How dare you speak as if you can understand me. Have you laid awake as your father raised a dagger over you? Hoped that he would follow through—prayed that he wouldn’t? Have you felt your own power scream through you while you were powerless to stop it? Have you laid bare on a public lavatory—defiled—bruised—with the words half-breed—bastard—mutt ringing through your ears? How many times have you wished to end your own existence, Princess?”

“Lotor-”

“ ** _How many?_** ”

“Do not assume that because I have not lived through your suffering, I have not suffered. Your pain does not discredit my own.”  

 A quiet beeping filled the chamber and they both froze to look towards the door. There was a pause in the metallic ringing followed by a low honk and a curse. Allura jumped at the sound and scrubbed at her face before breathing deeply and adjusting her features just slightly. Enough to fool someone into believing she hadn’t been sobbing. She spun to grab a towel and scrub at the blood on the floor.

Lotor reached out his quintessence until the former blue paladin’s energy responded to his inquiring touch. His lip curled at the memory of Allura wrapped in his embrace.

“Your mate calls on you.”

Allura’s face flushed with emotion, as she shoved her sleeve down to cover the marks of his claws on her skin, “We are not Galra, he is not my mate.”

“And yet he calls upon you like one.”

The door slid open, Lotor releasing his image before the soft hissing slide had fully formed in the air.

Allura spun towards the sound, her eyes alight with panic. “Lance!”

Lance froze, one foot already intruding past the line that marked her quarters. The boy floundered for a second, gesturing from the Altean to the keypad, “You, uh, gave me the pass code?”

Allura let out a pent up breath before flopping onto her bed, all of her energy gone, “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Please, come in Lance.”

The boy hovered by the door uncertainly, “If you don’t want me to—”

“Come in, Lance,” Allura snapped, her tone sharp. The boy’s eyes widened as his brows furrowed with worry. The princess sighed before offering him a soft smile and continuing, “Please, come sit with me. You haven’t yet had a chance to tell me about your time at Clear Day.”

A smile immediately lightened his features, “Yeah! So, I know its not sparkly or anything, but I think you’re gonna really like it. Check it out, I got you Mini-Blue!”

“Oh!” Allura breathed, a touch of light filling her chest again, “Its positively gorgeous! I’m sure the mice will love to play with it. They love to entertain me with stories of them piloting Voltron. Now they will have a lion they can use in the story! Oh, I love it, Lance.”

Lance’s smile faded as he looked down at his hands, “I… heard you talking. Before I came in. Are you feeling okay, Allura?”

_No one can know._

Allura’s chin snapped to where Lotor had been standing moments earlier. Satisfaction shot through his being like quintessence being injected into his veins as he watched the panic and turmoil unfurl in her gaze. As his emotion warmed a spot just under her rib cage, confusion swirled through her pool of regal restraint. Her mask cracked.

“Yes,” Allura began slowly, face dark, “I was just… speaking with the mice.”

Lance looked at where the mice were dog-pilled on her pillow, fast asleep, before turning back to Allura, his face pulled taught with worry and hurt.

“If you don’t want to tell me—”

“Tell me how you won the Mini-Blue!” Allura burst out, her tone forcefully bright.

Lance watched her for a moment longer, his gaze uncertain before he tossed away his concern to adopt a façade matching hers, “Oh, well, you see there was this ring toss booth. I saw someone walking away with a purple lion. Which, I mean, come one, _there is no purple lion in Voltron!_ So I went to tell the guy who as running it that. We talked a little bit and he pulled out this collectors edition, one and only, _blue lion._ So he showed me these rings—I’m telling you, they were, like, this big—and I knew I could win Mini-Blue, so I gave him the tokens and he pulls out these tiny little rings for me to play with. The game was totally rigged!”

Allura’s focus drifted as Lance spun his story, his features bright and gestures exaggerated for effect. She absently stroked the small plushie, fiddling with one of the ears as she the dark shadow of her conversation with Lotor pulled her mind away.

“Allura?”

She startled. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, Lance. It’s been a long day. But I was listening! The game was rigged?”

The princess knew immediately from the hurt that flashed in his eyes before he looked away that she had missed something. Some crucial part of the story, at least for him. She reached out to brush her fingertips against the back of his hand and Lance almost immediately threaded their fingers together.

“It’s okay, Allura,” the paladin murmured, his smile only making the dejected look in his eyes stand out even more, “It wasn’t that interesting of a story, anyway. Mostly I just went to that ring toss booth and got you Mini-Blue.”

Allura shot him a light-hearted smirk in an attempt to bolster his confidences once more, “How many rings did you toss?”

Blue eyes flashed away as a blush caught high in his cheeks, “Well, technically, only three?”

“Oh Lance, you truly are Voltron’s one and only sharp shooter.”

There was a genuine smile on his face as he responded, “I knew you guys would catch on eventually.”

The princess pulled closer to him, inching her way across the small space to curl into his side. The boy threaded an arm around her waist to pull her closer, shifting to find the perfect position of limbs and curves before he sighed and fully relaxed. Allura was finally able to do the same as Lance began to hum.

It was thing that the princess had been delighted to learn about the earthling. It reminded her of the Yalmors on Altea. Just a quiet, soft contented sound that rumbled through their chest and into her body if she could appease them and scratch them in just the right spot.

When Lance was pleased or just in a pleasant mood, he would hum. Quiet, nonsensical tunes that seemed to leak out almost unconsciously. Keith had once tried to tell her a specific song so she could find it through the castle’s resources, but she preferred to listen to the quiet, off-kilter melodies that she could earn from time to time.

 _Not your mate?_ Lotor spat through her mind, his wrath lashing out like thorned vines against her skin.

Allura gasped, jumping away from Lance as the phantom sensation snaked across her skin.

Lance had frozen, arms still expectantly open and waiting for her return “Allura? What’s wrong?”

“You need to leave.” The princess whispered, arms wrapped around her frame as she turned her back on him.

“What? Allura, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“Lance! Please, just go!”

Her desperate cry left a chill in the room that seemed to freeze it’s inhabitants. Lotor snarled through the princess’ mind and her own lip curled in response to his loathing.

Lance’s brow was drawn low over his eyes as he stood and hesitantly began to make his way towards the princess, “No. I won’t leave this time. Allura, I know something’s going on. Please, just let me help you. Tell me what’s going on.”

When Allura looked over her shoulder, it was Lotor’s hatred that pulled on her features and made her glower more sinister than any expression that the princess had worn before. “Of course, you decide to be stubborn now.”

The blue paladin recoiled but held his ground, “Let me help you, Allura, please.”

“Poor little paladin, always so desperate to please. To be wanted. How long have you been running from the truth of your own uselessness?” Allura’s voice didn’t growl and caress the words as Lotor’s own voice would, but the words were the same.

The earthling’s entire demeanor dropped, his eyes going wide at her words. Though reluctantly, his outstretched arms were finally pulled back to dangle at his side. Allura’s hand clamped over her mouth as the words registered as more than just whisperings through her mind.

“Lance—”

“It’s okay, Allura,” Lance choked out as he turned towards the door. “I get it. I’ll just go.”

“Lance!”

The door slid shut on her plea.

Lotor quietly called on his form, striding silently towards the dresser as the princess laid quivering hands against the door. He folded his arms over his chest and watched her slide to the floor, her shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. She was breaking. He could feel it within each ragged breath. Read it in every tainted strain of her quintessence. He reveled in it.

But underneath the fulfillment, there was another emotion.

Jealousy.

It only served to fuel his wrath.


	3. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lotor pushes things too far and gets called out by an old friend. 
> 
> WARNING: Once again, this is by no means a fluffy fic. That isn't to say it doesn't have the capacity for fluff in the future, but it is not found in this chapter. This contains material that may be triggering to some. If you are one such individual, please proceed with caution.

The Entity’s jaw clenched against a growl as he watched Allura abandon her restraint to dissolve into sobs, her form still pressed against the door the paladin had escaped through.

To think she had moved on to a new mate so soon after ensuring his demise. Lotor had thought the princess to be many things in the time he had spent by her side—passionate, lighthearted, kind, straightforward, impulsive, domineering, immature, vindictive—but never unfaithful. Had he ever truly known her? When he had spent days guiltily scrubbing her scent off of his skin—tormented by the many secrets he was keeping from her—had she been holding secrets of her own?

No.

The princess could hide many things, but her body would never lie. Even if he could no longer smell the pheromones in the air, he could feel her emotions like they were his own—could trace the pulse under her skin; every move, thought and feeling creating a new ripple through the pool of their joined quintessence.

Her body did not yearn for the boy.

“How pitiful. So you’re just using him for comfort.”

Allura’s breath hitched. She sniffed, her hand curling into a fist as she whispered, “You’re wrong.”

His lips stretched to allow a baring of fangs, “I don’t believe I am. Have you welcomed him into your bed, Princess? Between your sheets? Under your night clothes?”

 “How crude,” the princess hissed, spinning on him. Her face was flushed with indignation as she pushed to her feet, “Our relationship is none of your concern.”

“On the contrary,” Lotor replied, his voice pure silk as he stepped close enough to make her rock back on her heels, her gaze steeling with the resolve to not back away. “If Voltron can’t rise to challenge the witch because of an internal dispute, all will be lost. Your… _relationship_ … your manipulation of the boy’s emotions should be highly concerning. To your entire team. What will they think of you if they learn that he has been nothing more than a pet?”

Allura raised her chin to meet his gaze, “You know not of what you speak.”

The entity tilted his head and smiled gently at her.

Allura stiffened.

His claws were at her waist before she could pull away, pulling her lithe form flush against his. The way her body molded against his apparition was the only indication that he was actually touching her. He pulled her closer, traced a talon along her spine, watching as she gasped, her back bowing in response.

It wasn’t enough. He was a greedy creature, after all. After being adrift for eons, he finally found something he could touch, crush, bleed dry if he chose to, but it wasn’t enough to just be able to touch. He wanted to _feel_. It wasn’t enough that she was validating his words with each gasp his touch tore past her reluctant lips—if the boy had truly been seeing to her needs, surely she wouldn’t mewl for him so. He needed to feel the heat rolling off of her skin in waves, feel the breathlessness clench his chest.

A tendril of blue quintessence bushed against his black energy from where her fluttering hand was clutching onto his bicep, and Lotor hungrily captured the offered thread. The pressure against her skin eased as he traced her quintessence back to the source and felt his own form through her senses. Though he yearned to feel the velvet heat of her skin and the soft moisture of her breath along his neck, the warm jolt that raced through her core in response to his ministrations was enough to pull a groan from him.

Lotor despised his own desire, the warm emotion tainted by dark, swirling malice. After the torture she had left him to endure, after she had abandoned him to be torn apart, he still longed for her.

Perhaps he was more Galra than he had ever been willing to admit.

“You forget,” Lotor murmured, smirking as she shivered against the sensation of his fangs brushing the shell of her ear, “ _I’m in your head_.”

Allura shoved him away roughly, her eyes wild as she pushed a hand against her stomach, another twisting into her mused hair.

Lotor just smiled as he stalked toward her, clawed hand covering hers and urging it lower as he purred, “You’d like some help with that.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t touch me!” Allura snarled, her tone breathless as she spun away from him.

“But am I really touching you?” Lotor said, his voice flat as he reached out to where the blue lion plush sat atop her bed, his hand harmlessly passing through the object. Like he wasn’t even there. Like he was nothing more than a specter.

Because isn’t that all that he was—all that she had made him?

_Am I really touching you?_

He didn’t know the answer.

“Leave me!” She demanded, clutching her hands to her chest, where her traitorous heart still beat fervently for the memory of the man that had held her through the night and whispered dreams of a better future into her ear.

When the entity reached out to her again it was with a melted and mottled form and voice hoarse from misuse. As much a reminder for her as it was for him.

“Oh, it’s too late for that, Princess,” Lotor hissed, sliding a rotting finger under her chin. “You sold your ability to make such demands when you accepted me in exchange for the power to conquer worlds.”

Allura gasped, stumbling to the ground in her desperation to put distance between them. The princess scrambled until her back was flush against the wall, shoulders wedged between her bed and her desk. “No. You’re not real. This isn’t— _Stop it!_ ”

There was a gentle pull against his consciousness that drew his attention for a breadth of a second. There were no Altean hosts that possessed the ability to manipulate his energy at will aside from the witch and the princess. And what more, this urging wasn’t for just his power, this was for his conscious mind—for Lotor himself. He pushed it from his mind before refocusing on the princess. The former emperor knelt before her, the chivalry of the movement lost in his deteriorated form.

“Oh, I am very real. Would you like me to prove to you just how _real_ I am, Princess?”

His consciousness was wrenched from the small room and thrown through blinding strains of energy until coming to a jarring halt. Lotor panted, his eyes wide as his battle instincts took over—hands and feet splayed wide, claws digging into the ground—ready to face the oncoming threat that had pulled him from Allura’s mind.

The snarl dropped from his face, disbelief and terror drawing long lines down the panes of his face.

“No.”

His being stilled with horror as he took in the vast fields of white, broken by moments of blackness in which he could see the energy swirl. He was back. How had he been forced back into this monstrosity—this never ending nightmare?

“ ** _No!_** ” Lotor screamed, lashing out with his power in desperation.

Already he could feel it rushing into every crevice and every vein—taking everything that made him who he was and flooding it with something _other_. Something more ruthless and mindless and as old and unyielding at the universe itself. The ever oppressive force of unlimited power.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think.

A soft pressure against his calf accompanied by a quiet mewl brushed against his consciousness.

But he couldn’t respond. Lotor was being crushed, folded, molded. Was he really even himself anymore? He couldn’t feel his limbs. He was nothing, he was everything, he was the entity.

A more insistent rumble vibrated through him before a weight pushed against his chest, forcing him from the rigid battle stance until he was flat on his back, staring up into the unending swirl of quintessence.

Up? Down? How could he tell the difference? There was no end to the fields of white. The quintessence was choking him. He was going to be ripped to shreds by the white energy. Torn and ripped and engulfed until there was nothing left of him. Not even a memory. Because who would want to remember him? This torn, mutilated half-bred that had not even been able to save his peoples. Even his mate had tossed him aside.

There was a rumbling weight on his chest, radiating a soft, soothing energy.

There was a weight on his chest. He could feel the deep rumble pulsing through him. He could _feel_ it. Lotor gasped in a breath, his chest struggling to push against the weight that had taken up residence on his chest. Even with the small voice in the back of his mind whispering to him that the very idea of him being able to feel anything in this state was a base fallacy, he took comfort in the weight of something against his chest. With each false pant released past his lips, his mind was becoming steadier—his surroundings more clear.

With a tense jaw and eyes clenched shut, Lotor forced himself to turn to look once more out into the fields of white. His body trembled, every muscle pulled taut as he fought against the waves of resigned terror that were threatening to pull him under. A gentle coo from his chest urged him forward. He forced his head to the side and snapped his eyes open.

The hazy image of green fields filled his vision. The green fields were interrupted by a smiling face as the image panned to the side, laughter echoing quietly in his mind. The skies were a soft blue, dotted with lazy clouds. On the person’s face were golden Altean markings, glinting in the soft light.

Lotor blinked in surprise, letting his gaze wander around similar patches of varying apparitions as they faded and swam into focus around him, softening the previously oppressive field of white. One such window caught his gaze and he stilled as he saw the grooves along the inside of Allura’s door wavering above her knees—muffled sobbing echoing in his thoughts.

“These images… this is what each person that has a piece of my quintessence within them— is this what they’re currently seeing?” Lotor mused aloud, his voice soft with wonder as his gaze fixed on the misty vision of a sleeping infant, pearlescent Altean markings standing out in sharp relief from their dark skin.  

There was a quiet rumble of affirmation from his chest and Lotor tore his gaze away from the child to find soft violet eyes seated above a silvery snout fixed on him. His chest lightened as he traced a thumb along the scales and ridges of the creature’s cheek.

“Sincline. It is good to see you again, old friend.”

The small drake purred in response, eyes slitting with contentment as it rubbed the side of it’s head against his chest. Sincline spoke with him as he usually did, with a flick of his tail and the presence of impressions and images within Lotor’s mind. After having spent so long together—trapped in the endless void with only the other’s presence for solace—Lotor was well versed in his manners of communication, and easily interpreted them.  

_You remembered yourself._

Lotor stilled. A frown darkening his features as he sat up and pushed Sincline off of his chest, “Yes, well. I had some help.”

An inquiring rumble and the image of Allura’s smiling face in his mind.

His lip curled in distaste.

Sincline huffed and trotted over to where the princess’ field of vision floated low. The drake hummed with concern as he nosed at the image and turned to fix an accusatory gaze on Lotor, his shoulder pressing against the window protectively.

_Why have you hurt her if she helped you regain presence of self?_

“ ** _She’s_** _the one who did this to me—to us!”_ Lotor roared at the creature.

Sincline spun on him, the plates and spines along his body raised in defense, his tail held high. He let out a roar of his own, reminiscent of the hulking machine that housed its spirit.

_How will inflicting more pain resolve anything?_

Lotor turned from the creature, “Perhaps if I inflict enough pain, I will stop feeling undeserving of the pain she has inflicted on me.”

The creature snorted and rolled his eyes, shifting on taloned feet until it was sitting regally, watching him over flared nostrils. He thumped his tail against the ground in impatience and pushed an image of Lotor’s armor into his mind.

_Do you feel the need to guard yourself against me, my pilot?_

“So long as you feel the need to attack me, my ship,” Lotor replied, snide.

Sincline’s lip raised in a gentle snarl that was cut off with a dissatisfied sneeze.

Lotor sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, a tie appearing in his grasp at the mere desire to have his hair off his neck. This was, after all, his mindscape. At least, that is what the entity had once concluded from his time spent in this strange, in-between world. After years of hiding here with Sincline from the monstrosities of the witch and the Galran tyrant, Lotor discovered that he could actually feel sensations in this space and was able to conjure _almost_ anything.

He had always harbored a deep seated dread for what might come about if he tried to breathe life into the memory of people he housed within his mind. Terrified that they would mold to fit his fears within his presence. He was too cowardly to face his own nightmares, even to ease the solitude.

After securing his hair against the nape of his neck, he closed his eyes and allowed the armor to dissolve, fighting against the unease that rose up as each piece abandoned him to his vulnerability. Lotor breathed a deep sigh after the final piece had disappeared, the small battle against his own unfounded insecurities leaving him feeling small and drained.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Sincline. It has been too long.”

The drake raised a single eyelid to appraise him, his eyes jumping open with glee as he found the armor cast away to be replaced with light-weight training garb. Sincline chattered happily as he traced a jagged trail towards his pilot, his hindlimbs seeming to move too quickly for his forelimbs at times, and vice-versa. Lotor chuckled at his lopsided dance and obligingly stooped down to receive his companion.

Lotor blinked wide as he found himself nose-to-nose with the creature, “Have—have you _grown?”_  

Sincline answered with an uneasy rumble.

Lotor knelt to take full stock of him.

When he had last spent time with the small creature, they had both been in pitiful states. With no reminder of his former self, Lotor had spent pheobs curled in on himself—the small warmth of Sincline huddled on his waist—vargas clawing at his mottled flesh wishing for blood, pain, anything to prove that he was real, _alive_.

At that time, Sincline had been little more that a serpentine creature that Lotor could scoop into his hands. Scales had been cleaved off to reveal weeping flesh in his hide. The proud spines along his limbs had crumbled like statues in a hailstorm. A physical manifestation of the damage the Quintessence field had left on the ship. Even though Sincline would tear them off, Lotor had insisted on conjuring wrappings to cover the weeping wounds. To save himself the pain of having to look at the weeping gashes that marked the creature he had brought into existence, just to be torn and left for dead alongside his pilot.

Lotor brushed against where he recalled one such weeping sore—beneath a head plate, right above his shoulder—and found himself breathless when his hand brushed over soft, new scales. He didn’t bother to hide the grin that found it’s way onto his face.

“Sincline, _you’re healing!_ ” he laughed, euphoric, as he hefted the creature into his lap and against his chest.

 The drake cooed softly and placed a foot against Lotor’s chest, violet eyes heavy as he revealed another series of emotions and images to him. The witch, pulling Sincline from the void. Her eyes merciless as she opened the cockpit to find Lotor’s withered form within. A deep sense of dread and urgency passed between them.

_The witch has found us. She is plotting something more horrifying than we could have conceived. We must put an end to this, my pilot. Find peace within yourself, make peace with your mate. Do as you will, but do not disregard the true battle to pursue a temporary reprieve._

Lotor stilled, his hands shaking slightly at the thought of facing the witch again. He swallowed hard before asking, his voice hoarse, “What is she doing? What is the witch plotting?”

Sincline hesitated.

“Sincline, show me.”

A brief flash of the witch speaking to the colonized Alteans had him on his feet, his hands flexed, claws sharp.

“She found them,” Lotor whispered, his eyes locked on the image of the Altean infant with pearlescent markings.

Sincline’s head against his calves urged him toward the pictured consciousness and Lotor stumbled, looking back to the drake with dismay.

_You are the reason this small one was able to come into existence. Do not fear her. Go, learn what you must. Come back when you are ready to defeat the witch._

“She might have a brother if it weren’t for me,” Lotor hissed over his shoulder in retaliation, a small part of him cautious to make too much sound in case it woke the sleeping child.

The drake huffed and shoved again.

_Enough of this. She is the first in her line. Now **go**. If you put it off any longer, the universe will have moved on without any of us in it. _

Lotor shifted, his hands unsteady but his resolve sure. When he reached toward the host’s consciousness, his arm was once more coated with heavy plates of armor.


	4. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor makes some new friends. In a sense.

There had been a time that the Entity had a body of his own. When he had a sharp mind and a serpentine tongue he could use to defend himself. A time when he had even been respected by some. There was a time that he had entire governments—planets—that he could mold. Dreams of light and freedom had filled him then. During times when he was sure that his prowess would be enough to help him hold onto his piece of the universe and make it better than what his father had left him with.

Those ideals had been stripped from him as he watched planets burn. People who he had worked beside—families who had accepted him into their homes more than his own ever had. All of them burning along with his ideals until they would be nothing more than cosmic dust.

The Prince had laid there, currents of black quintessence—the Entity’s quintessence, twisted in the witch’s hands—wracking his body and had felt his rage burn with the planet until there was nothing but a numb ache.

There had been a bolt, lying haphazardly in the corner that had drawn his attention. The light of his burning planet casting a looming shadow behind the object as the witch had pulsed another wave of quintessence through his body. A sentry was stationed at the door. Their eyes had locked through the opaque helmet visor. There had been no sympathy in those eyes.

For his own good, they said each time his body was stiff with pain. His pain would teach him.

Pain was a poor teacher.

His sharp claws that he had been so sure could protect him had driven deep grooves into the floor, the metal screeching under their assault. His sword had dug into his hip, begging to be unsheathed. His clenched fangs drew blood as his entire body spasmed against the witch’s attack. All his thoughts and hopes and ideals smoldering away as the Prince could do nothing but watch the shadow of the bolt waver in the light of his burning planet. 

Lotor felt that same numbness as he fell through blinding light, his consciousness chasing the strand of quintessence to the Altean infant. The numb ache seemed to fill his being and fuzz his mind until there was nothing but a ringing silence. He could almost feel the quintessence jolt through him from that time.

From within the Witch, the Entity had silently screamed as his own energy was used to warp the young boy—adolescent—adult—into the ruler that had been so desperate that he had begun to mimic his parents games. Just to survive another day. He had curled away, until even his own sense of self had been purged from him.

Stripped away, until he was just the Entity.

A jolt—and then a flash of warmth.

The soft glow of sunlight warmed the inside of his eyelids, rendering the world into dark honey. There was a peaceful hum of braying creatures nearby and hushed conversation and muted shouts of fieldwork. A village. He was in the heart of a village. It was so warm.

Hot.

It was hot. Too hot.

His host’s eyelids lifted blearily, the child squirming to be free from the swaddling cloth restricting her movements and turning her bed into a tropical hell. Frustrated little whimpers and grunts filled the air as the child struggled.  

Slowly, Lotor drew away from the child’s thoughts, impressions, and sensations. As his first swords master had instructed so long ago, the once-Emperor stilled his mind, willing his mental space into a quiet pool. The Prince grasped for his individuality, latching onto his consciousness before he drowned in another’s. He traced the line of his blade in his minds-eye. The smooth line of the weapon—his long limbs. The point—his fangs and claws. The light glinting off the metal—the flash of deep blue irises.

When he had finished stilling the skittering thoughts that disturbed the white pool of his quintessence and finally withdrew, he was gazing down at the child.

For a breath, fear rooted deep in his chest, the tendrils pulling hard and taut against his breastplate. When he looked down, would he find mottled skin and fractured talons?

There was a gentle rumble from the link he shared with Sincline.

_Do not let the witch win. You are more than what she reduced you to._

The roots within his chest tightened a fraction further before easing away.

Lotor glanced down to find smooth skin. He loosed a sigh of relief, “I wasn’t sure I could manage without her memories,” the Entity breathed as he turned his palm over to gaze at the lines there before experimentally flexing his hands and extending his claws.

There was a sudden stillness that scented of apprehension and threw all of his battle instincts to high alert.

He sucked in a breath, gaze flashing over to assess the infant. Ochre eyes, soft and doe-like above her pearlescent markings were unwaveringly fixed on him. Lotor froze, alarm flushing cold and then hot through his being. She was looking at him. He knew, with the certainty of someone well acquainted with the sensation of being watched, that the infant was _looking at him._

The room began to blur as she held his gaze. She shouldn’t be able to see him. _No one_ could see him.

He could feel the indecision warring within the child as her eyes locked with his before trailing over his armor. In the end, it was his own fear that tipped the scale between curiosity and alarm. Panic jittered to life within him as the hint of tears began to shine in those doe eyes. Small hands fisted with intent as the soft moue of the child’s lips curved into something far more threatening.

Within the roiling mass of his panic, Lotor made a calculated decision and summoned the mirage of an Altean creature, hoping for the best. As he summoned the soft chestnut fur and elongated, graceful limbs, he threw a prayer to the stars that all children were as fascinated by animals as he had been.

The child let out one plaintive wail before it’s eyes peeked up at him once more. Her face froze in delighted shock.

 Lotor’s heart warmed with relief and comradery, the panicked dance of his energy receding in waves before his energy was a smooth pool once more. He’d had much the same reaction when he had first laid eyes on the willowy lines of the beast. The Prince had happened upon a documentation of it while searching through a dark and dusty library full of frayed and cracked records. He had long-since forgotten the name of the Altean indigenous, but the image would never leave him.

The ungulate snorted softly, its warm breath tousling the infant’s dark curls as its slitted nostrils flared to delicately to sniff at her. The little Altean tittered, arms reaching toward the bull, as though it recognized the creature as one of its own. The image lifted its head with controlled grace, the gnarled, branched antlers doing little to hinder the movement. It shook its head, allowing one of the sweet flowers adorning those branches to drift onto the child who squealed in delight.

Even as his reserves of quintessence were draining and lighting the need to replenish, replenish, _replenish_. . . Lotor found himself entranced once more with the animal. When he had first devoured the image, wholly absorbed by the richly speckled coat, willowy limbs, and flowering, gem adorned branching antlers, the prince had thought truly, this animal represented what that great planet of Altea must have been. The sharply curved teeth filling its maw and the poisonous barb nestled between the soft tuft of hair at the base of the animal’s long, curving tail had only further ingrained that thought within his mind.

That prehensile tail swept against the back of its cloven hooves lazily as the creature returned the child’s gaze. The sweat sodden cloths were loosened and sagging but still tangled around her limbs. It’s head lowered once more and the child screeched with glee as the bull’s lips pulled back to reveal rows of razor-like teeth. The creature blew in the girl’s face before those teeth fixed on the cloth and slowly shook her from the cloth’s restrictive hold.

The infant cooed, reaching for his muzzle. As Lotor hesitated, the apparition gazed down at the child, hind hoof idly stomping against the ground silently.

_Do not touch him. He will hurt you._

Lotor let the beast’s head lower to nuzzle into the child’s embrace, it’s mirrored gaze slitting closed as the Altean carded through its thick coat.

The entity startled as the door slammed open, a dark-skinned male rushing to the child’s side. He had the same deep set, almond eyes. The father, then.

“No, Kelanelle, you must keep the wraps on,” her father murmured helplessly as he stepped through Lotor’s illusion to swaddle the child once more.     

He released a sigh of relief, even as the swirl of his energy being interrupted by another’s left him with the vague impression of nausea. Lotor stepped forward hesitantly, raising a hand towards the male. The girl’s father paused, a look of confusion passing over his features as he searched for the source of his premonition before shaking the unease away to focus on his daughter.

The Entity’s shoulder’s slumped, relief and disappointment warring within him as he stepped back into the shadows to press a shoulder against the wall—a horribly animated reaction for something that couldn’t even feel the press of the structure. He snorted softly at the absurdity of his movements—the subconscious desperation to be _alive_ and to _feel_.

A muted scuffle and the press of another’s energy pulled his gaze away from where it had been resting on his boots. A female lingered in the doorway, her silvery hair at odds with her sunset ruddy skin and chocolate markings, an adoring smile pulling at her lips. As her gaze fell on the events unfolding within the nursery, her steps faltered and her lips popped open into a soft gasp of shock.

Lotor stiffened as her gaze seemed to lock on where he stood in a corner of the small room. The image of the beast went unnaturally still. The child let out a gurgle of concern, securely wrapped and looking to be on the verge of tears.

“I know,” the male said with a deep weariness, “Soon we won’t be able to sleep at all. How she manages to get out of her swaddling every night is one of life’s greatest mysteries.”

The female chuckled gently, stepping forward to lay a chaste kiss upon the male’s brow before stooping to place another against the child’s temple.

“She has an adventurer’s heart, just like you.”

“Lest you forget, dear wife,” the child’s father replied indignantly, “it was you who led me past the village into a nest of cottlewiblems.”

“And I regret none of it,” she replied brightly, “Afterall that nest did have the most appetizing treats.”

“She obviously gets it from you,” he dead-panned, turning to nuzzle into the woman’s silvery locks.

The Entity burned with a guilt and envy so hot it was almost a tangible thing. This was what a family is meant to be. Soft touches and teasing words filled with adoration. How many families had been denied this because of the Galra expansion to harvest enough quintessence to sate the insatiable hunger for that life energy? If the rift had never been opened, if his energy had never been released, would his own family have been like this?

“Besides,” the mother continued, “I’m fairly certain she had some assistance.”

Lotor shared in the male’s look of confusion before she raised her delicate hand to stroke down the long column of the bull’s neck. The image shattered at her touch as Lotor wheeled back, casting wildly about for any shadow he could take refuge in. He blindly threw out tethers of his consciousness, searching for another piece of his quintessence, another host he could use to house his conscious mind as well as his dark energy.

The child’s mother mournfully lowered her hand, ignoring the bewildered look from her husband as she stepped towards where the shadows had lengthened to hide Lotor’s frame.

Lotor pressed back into the wall, hissing quietly in apprehension as she knelt before him. The child shivered at the unworldly sound, letting out a wail that made her father jump in alarm before pulling her close in an attempt to console her. The female paused only for a moment to give her mate a reassuring smile, before advancing on Lotor once more.

  _She can’t see me. She can’t see me._ He repeated the words to himself as he stretched his searching tendrils out further, further. He could feel it now, could practically taste the tint in female’s quintessence hinting at her alchemic abilities, the possibility for her to have been gifted with the sight.

He found a suitable host, strong strains of quintessence, devoid of the metallic tint of alchemic aptitude. Lotors consciousness curled around the mass of energy that had been fused with theirs, the pool of his life-force beckoning him forward.

The female smiled sweetly at him, olive eyes crinkling, “Thank you for keeping our little Kelanelle company, Lotor.”

Lotor leapt.

* * *

 

The stale taste of recycled air hit him first, the copper feel of it on his tongue as intimately familiar to him as the weight of a hilt in his hand. The hum of engines and quiet click of machinery sunk into his mind, the muted soundtrack of his life whispering calm to the race of panic through him. He breathed in deeply, the scent of oil and heated metal settling deep in his bones.

He was in a hangar.

“Acolyte Merla?”

The hoarse creak of the Witch’s voice shivered through him, deep-seated fear forcing his host’s form to go rigid. His gaze shifted from where it had been resting, unseeing on the hulking form of a humanoid ship, to take in the form that accompanied the grating voice that haunted him even now.

Disbelief morphed into nausea as he took in the coffee brown pigmentation of her skin and the altogether Altean visage that greeted him in place of the hunched Galra crone that had been the source of his hatred for so many eons. This creature before him. . . He wasn’t seeing Haggar the Witch, but some twisted merging of her and the woman he had revered as his mother.

Cold terror began to shake through him as her lips turned down in a disapproving frown that historically proceeded a flash of pain. Even as the terror kept him from withdrawing from the female to call on his own form, even as he recoiled into the furthest corner of her consciousness to hide from the Witch’s prying gaze, phantom swirls of shame and revulsion tightened his gut. Even after eons of not only being the subject of her tortures but also the device she used to dole out such tortures, she could inspire such a reaction from him.

“Acolyte Merla,” she repeated, her tone carrying a note of warning and thinning patience.

“I apologize, Goddess,” his host replied, her consciousness almost completely drowned out by the waves of his quintessence, “I am suddenly feeling rather faint. My focus must have escaped me.”

Honerva raised her chin, a sneer twisting her lips with distaste, “Am I boring you, Acolyte? I had thought your resolve ran deeper than that.”

The spike of loathing that shot through Lotor at that look gave Merla pause.

Lotor hissed silently as Honerva’s eyes narrowed at the hesitation. _I apologize, Goddess. It won’t happen again._ The Prince hastily offered up.

“I apologize, Goddess. It won’t happen again,” the female repeated, her spine straightening, “My resolve will not weaken. We will see to his return.”

Lotor stilled as the Witch assessed the female, silently cursing his violent reactions. He had to keep his focus. If his focus wavered, if he revealed himself, all would be lost. A flash of the images Sincline had revealed to him further cemented his resolve. He pushed back his own emotions and drew on his years of diplomacy, creating a blueprint for the conversation within his mind.

Steely eyes pinned him in place, as though the Witch could see him within the female. Merla fisted her hands against the tremor that ran through her, a whisper of her own fear harmonizing with his anticipation as she wondered at her own body’s betrayal.

_Could it be quintessence poisoning?_ Merla’s thoughts whispered over his own. _It can’t be. No, even if that is the case, I must see this through. For Luka. For all of the Acolytes that have given their lives to bring him back._

“I should hope not,” Honerva finally murmured back, her voice a claw raking against his consciousness, “There is still much to be done. Now is not the time for our resolves to weaken.”

_I am yours to command, Goddess. How can I prove myself? Please let me be of service!_ Lotor prompted the female.

“Please, my Queen, will you share some of your plans?” Lotor seized at the request, snarling at the resolve within Merla that fought against his control, anticipating the piercing glare before the Witch turned it on the female.

“Know your place, Acolyte!” the Witch hissed, dark energy gathering at her fingertips in warning.

An answering rumble of anger rose up within the female that Lotor stamped down with haste. This female, Merla, she was a warrior. She had no fear, but her blind loyalty and faith were going to get her killed. He only hoped to postpone the culling.

_Of course, Goddess. Sincerest apologies. I only meant to lighten the burden upon your shoulders. The loss has taken a toll on all of us, but you most of all. I could never hope to fathom your suffering. I only hope to ease it._

Lotor strung the words together with ease, pushing them more firmly through the female’s consciousness this time. The panic eased within him as Merla obediently voiced them, her temper dampened under his manipulations.

The Witch considered the female, the summoned quintessence quietly smothered as she let her gaze rest heavy on the warrior, “The way you speak is familiar to me,” Honerva pondered as she appraised her.

Lotor squirmed, silently begging the Witch to allow this small exchange of power—of knowledge.

“Please, my Queen,” Lotor flinched as Merla stepped forward before taking a knee and placing a fist against the textured grate of the walkway, “I would do anything to see Lotor rise to his full glory once more. Allow me to take on a greater role in this, our great cause.”

Honerva’s chin raised, eyes lighting with power as she gazed down at the female, “Do not challenge me again,” she murmured quietly, hands curving into claws.

_Never, my Queen._ Lotor pushed forward as fury once more warmed the fire within her.

“Never,” Merla murmured in submission even as her chin lifted to meet Honerva’s gaze.

Lotor growled a warning to her subconscious that urged the unease within her higher and caused her confidence to shrink away. The witch’s lips only lifted in a condescending smile, eyes unimpressed as she stepped forward to place a hand against the warrior’s head, urging it into a bow once again.

“Very well, Acolyte Merla,” Honerva hissed, “Perhaps I shall try to rely on you once more. I hope you will not disappoint me as before.”

“I only wish to serve you as Luka did,” Merla murmured, the fire within her breaking to reveal the grief that shuddered beneath her words.

The male’s last moments flashed through her mind, his voice reverent as he had called out to—what he believed to be—Lotor. His back wide and unguarded as the Sincline’s spikes had torn through him.

Devastation flashed through the Prince.

He had done that? _He_ had done that? The female’s stomach roiled with sickness and grief, her vision blurring as her emotions joined with his own. He’d been so lost in the void, so lost to the pull of the Entity, that he’d lashed out at someone who had come to his defense. Who had only wished to help bring him back.

“Indeed,” Honerva dismissed the notion with a murmur, unaware or uncaring of the turmoil within Merla, “As you are aware, despite our great efforts, Lotor had already been slaughtered by Voltron when we retrieved him from the void.”

_How was he piloting the ship, then?_

Lotor silenced the question before she could voice it.

“Lotor no longer exists in this reality,” Honerva continued, reaching up to place a hand on the hulking ship before them.

“Then how will we bring him back?” Merla asked, but her voice was distant within Lotor’s mind as he picked apart the Witch’s words, a dark notion already forming within his mind.

She’d said _in this reality. In **this reality.**_ Lotor’s attention shifted to the ship that Honerva was appraising, her gaze scrutinizing. He reached out with his quintessence, recoiling when he felt another energy stretch towards him in response.

_No. . ._

He could hardly fathom it himself, but the proof was before him. The look of blank determination when she had opened Sincline’s cockpit to find his corpse within flashed through him. She hadn’t hoped to get him back alive. She’d never wanted _him_ back. Only Sincline. The ship he had manipulated Allura into imbuing with the ability to rip the fabric of realities to collect quintessence and bring an indisputable peace.

The ability that could be twisted to destroy the universe.

The ability that was reflected in the ship before him.

“We won’t.”  She replied simply, turning towards Merla, her gaze manic in its stillness, “Lotor in this reality is no more. We cannot bring him back. So, we must move forward. To a new reality. One without the Galra Empire. One that still has our home. And my son.”

Lotor reeled. This had been her plan all along. The Witch had _never_ wanted him back. She knew that he would never accept her, would never recognize the monster she had become as his mother. So she had resolved to find another reality, a parallel entity that she could mold to be the son she would never have in this reality.

“No.”

Honerva’s gaze sharpened, “What did you say?”

_Kill her_ , Lotor hissed within her mind, _Kill. Kill. **Kill**._

He had to do it now. He had to end the witch before she could do more damage. If he could do this one thing, if he could just end her now, he could make up for all he had done. He could protect the universe, as he’d always wanted to. He could at least offer them this small amount of peace, of protection.

The Prince shoved his power through the Altean’s veins, the power roaring through energy circuits that had never been awakened within her.

Merla screamed, both knees hitting the grate as she cradled her arm.

Lotor froze, his power flickering out as her pain registered within him. She didn’t have the alchemic aptitude, her body was not equipped to manipulate quintessence. If he forced his power to manifest through her, it would kill her. Could he do this? If it meant killing this fierce warrior, could he protect this reality? Just one life for the lives of countless others.

_I sacrificed a few to preserve the future for millions._

The Prince paused as he recalled the words he had once used in an attempt help Allura see reason. The betrayal in her eyes burned through him once again, his own betrayal smoldering hot and low. And she had followed his condemnation with hypocrisy. Letting him die for—what she had judged to be—the ‘good of the universe’.

And their choices had led them here. To a lunatic holding the balance of reality in her hands.

He had to do this. One more life. One more name to add to the list. One more’s lifeblood to stain his hands. If he could save countless others, he would sacrifice his morality, sacrifice this life.

He readied the quintessence once more.

Merla blinked in an attempt to clear the haze in her mind as he prepared to smother her consciousness, hands coming up to grip her temples, “Apologizes, my Queen. I—I don’t know what’s come over me. I fear I am unwell.”

A force gripped Lotor’s consciousness and yanked. The last thing he was aware of was Merla falling to the grate with a gasp—her energy flickering into unconsciousness—and then he was falling.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment if you enjoyed or just want a fellow fan to chat with.


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